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The ceiling was custard yellow and had two square feet of hairline cracks at the far right in the shape of a rabbit. The wallpaper was peeling, but the beds straight and lined up neatly on each wall. Both of her fists were curled into the pristine white sheets and were stinging with sleepiness. The pillows were pink and scented like cheap fabric softener, and there were three of them even though she only slept with one.
It was one of those very sudden awakenings. The kind where you didn’t understand what awake meant, where you weren’t aware that you were ever asleep, or ever breathed, or had a name. No fuzzy, cozy stirrings that slowly roused her, or a steady drift into bleary wakefulness. Just nothing one moment, and then: boom. The world in high-definition, sharp senses mapping the sharp contours of the waking world. No memory, just a reflexive instinct to soak in all with all she had.
Why is my elbow asleep?
Ah. Here comes the awareness. Slowly…and then…yup. There we go. All at once.
(Name) didn’t know why she was lying in the True Cross Infirmary, but then again a few moments again she couldn’t even recall her name, so she decided to not let it bother her too much and to just take things slowly for the time being. The sensory crispness had given way to a foggy head and aching temples so strong they twisted even her stomach up. Ah, yes, remembering was definitely too much energy right now. Something was blocking the recollections of recent past from the front of her mind, so it must be. Alrighty then. So instead she focused on rousing her suddenly numbed senses, doing things like flexing her clenched fists that felt almost arthritic with tension, and gently tilting her head to stretch the skeletal stiffness gripping her neck. Doing things like wondering how an elbow can fall asleep, and why her bed was the only one in the infirmary with pink pillows.
“You’re awake.”
“Yes, it appears that way,” (Name) replied immediately, without caring to identify the observer who had spoken. Actually, to be perfectly honest, she had assumed it was just one of the chorus in her head sassing her like usual. After a moment, she paused. No, that wasn’t true. The voice resonated from within the room, not her mind, and the voices normally responsible for such blunt comments were along with the others, still wondering what was going on in sleepy tones. They didn’t have time for such a comment.
“You’ve been asleep forever. I’ve been watching.”
Yeah, that was definitely someone. Wonder who it is, she thought to herself while administrating to a bruised wrist. Perhaps a child. The comment would’ve been quite creepy under normal circumstances, but it was said in such a childish way that she couldn’t quite take it seriously. Or maybe she was still too numb to take it seriously. Or maybe she was just crazy. (Name) had always been a tad on the crazy side. She joined the exorcist cram school, didn’t she?
“Don’t ignore me.”
“Then don’t rush me,” she exhaled, amused at the tone of this mystery person. Carefully, still stuck lying down, she turned her head to the left, wincing as sore muscles were pulled taut and twisted. First, she noticed with a smile the open window beside her bed. A soft breeze wafted in that drove the oppressing stench of disinfectant from her nostrils. The curtains were the same faded peony as her pillows. Then she noticed the great bushel of a flower arrangement at the bedside table. It seemed to have a stem of ever bloom there ever was—iris, lily, rose, daffodil, petunia, impatient, even dandelion—like someone sample from each corner of the garden of Amahara.
The third thing she noticed was the boy crouched on the rail of the empty bed beside her.
At first (Name) was a bit worried that she was hallucinating again. The boy looked like something her dreams would conjure up—the sort of dreams that had combusting teddy bears and trains made entirely out of cuckoo clocks. He was very odd, all in all. The green hair was odd enough without the spike, as was the tailcoat without the tatters, and the pointed shoes without the emerald tights. But there was a nudge of familiarity in his mannerisms assured her that he was real, and she had met him at least once before. His gestures struck her like she knew him, from the deft flick of the lollipop stick shifting to the other side of his mouth, to the impatient tilt of his head as he waited for a reply, and to her confusion as to whether he had nail-like claws or claw-like nails. Ah…yes, this was…this was Mephisto-sama’s brother. The fashion sense seemed to run in the family.
(Name) smiled drowsily. “Good, I recognise you. Was worried I might’ve had amnesia. You said you were watching me sleep?”
“Yeah,” he answered simply. She waited a moment for elaboration while rolling her ankles. He didn’t blink.
“Well, how long was I asleep?”
“I already said. Forever,” he replied with a small sigh in his childish manner, moving closer now, to the stool directly beside her bed. He could look directly down at her now. He was still crouched sitting on his haunches, though.
(Name) had to keep down a giggle. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She attempted to shift to a sitting position and succeeded with much struggle and grunting. She leaned against the pillows for support, now glad that there were three instead of one. “Let’s start with introductions,” she gasped out, short of breath. “Your name?”
“Amaimon, King of Earth,” he grumbled, his ear twitching in annoyance. “We’ve met, you know.”
“Have we? I mean, I’m sure I’ve seen you before. You’re sort of hard to forget.” He seemed to take this as a compliment. “But I seem to have forgotten our meeting, so I say we meet again.” She smoothed out the bedsheets and folded her hands on her lap, looking up at him. “I’m (Name)(Surname). Pleased to meet you, Amaimon.” She used what little coordination she currently had to extend her hand in greeting to the demon. Although his face remained completely emotionless, she detected surprise. He stared curiously at this outstretched hand before tentatively taking it, allowing it to be shook, and then quickly retracting to examine his own hand with slight alarm. A few chuckles escaped from (Name’s) lips. “…I take it handshakes aren’t entirely commonplace in Gehenna?”
“No. That was definitely weird.”
(Name) had to slap a hand over her mouth before look who’s talking could slip out. Instead, a long staccato string of giggles burst out. Good Lord, why was she so slap-happy? What had happened to her? Normally, she wouldn’t draw this much raw amusement out of such a small incident. But for some reason she found it all as absurd as…well, as everything! Everything was absurd, wasn’t it! Only nothing was spared such foolish eccentricity. (Name) didn’t know where these thoughts were coming from—not any voice she had had ever spoken like that—but at the moment that didn’t matter because she could hardly stop laughing!
“Sorry,” she wheezed between intermittent giggly hiccups. Amaimon didn’t know whether to be offended for being the subject of her merriment or to be concerned for her health. She straightened up with a few more coughs. “Sorry,” she repeated, much more collected, smoothing out the bedsheets and folding her hands once again. “But would you mind telling me what happened to get me here?”
Amaimon blinked. “You mean you don’t rememeber?” she shook her head. “Oh. That’s a shame. Anuie told me not to tell you anything. You have to remember on your own.”
Oh, bother. “Splendid. Then in that case, could you tell me why you’re here?”
His head tilted slightly. “Because you’re here.” His tone communicated this as ‘like, duh’.
(Name) stared at him in wonder. He was a child. How interesting. And amusing. “That hardly explains anything,” she said in her no-nonsense voice. “Think of a better reason.”
He visibly responded to her tone of voice, scooting forward as to pay better attention. The sucker stick switched sides again as he pondered. His pointed ears perked up as he discovered the next answer. “I’m here because Anuie said you wouldn’t be feeling good for a while.”
“That’s closer to an actual answer.” She grinned at him, shaking her head. This Amaimon was an interesting character.
He frowned. "Not good enough?"
“Nope. Keep going.”
His eyebrows screwed up as the thought harder, rocking back in forth on the stool. “Because…” he started. “…I don’t want you to feel bad,” he continued, choosing his words slowly and carefully. “I want you to feel better. I wanted to be here when you woke up.” Hi eyes shifted back to hers. “Better?”
(Name) nodded happily. “Much better!” he seemed very proud of himself. “But I still don’t entirely understand. We haven’t ever spoken prior to now.”
“Yes, we have,” he said, clearly offended. “Two days ago.”
(Name) had a clear feeling that this boy, although absurd, could be very dangerous when provoked, but in her weirdly cheerful state she couldn’t help herself. “I thought you said I was asleep forever.”
“Two days is forever when you’re watching someone sleep,” he shot back. “You didn’t even roll around or sleep talk. And you drool,” he pointed out flatly.
She stuck her tongue out at him. “So do most people. But that’s not the point. I’m just trying to say that this is all very sweet of you, but you didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did. I want you to feel better. I want,” he averted his gaze for a split-second, “to get to know you.”
(Name’s) grin faltered. Amaimon’s composure had suddenly changed dramatically. He had slumped down to sit in the stool like a normal person would, and he suddenly refused to let his sapphire eyes to go anywhere near her. He had halted his constant suckling of the lollipop, and his claw-like nails—or nail-like claws—fiddled with the stitching in his tie. (Name) tilted her head curiously. How strange. She couldn’t quite figure this person out right away. Nothing usually held her interest for this long. “And why is that?” she inquired softly.
His gaze locked with hers with a sudden intensity, no emotion except for the one he was trying to hide in his childish voice. “I want to know if you were as wonderful as you are beautiful.”
(Name’s) eyes widened. Curiosity always got her into curious positions, and this was certainly a curious position. She spent a great frantic minute agonising over how to respond, but then a sudden epiphany struck her. He wasn’t waiting for a response. He didn’t care if she responded or not, for he hardly realised what he had said. She knew his statement was in complete earnest, for this was an odd honest person, but it was clear that Amaimon didn’t quite understand the implications of his confession. He wasn’t expecting a response. He didn’t need one. Because he would do what he wanted either way.
(Name) stared at him, her stare softening. “…Did you bring these flowers for me?”
He nodded vigorously. Apparently he had been waiting for her to comment on them. “Do you like them? I didn’t know what your favourite was so I brought one of everything.”
She smiled at him. “They’re wonderful. I love them.”
“I grew them myself. Because I’m the King of Earth. I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
“What?”
“Thank you, Amaimon. That was very sweet of you.”
“No,” he shook his head, and stated in his childish way, “You’re the one who’s sweet.”
(Name) blinked at him, then started giggling. The giggling turned into chuckles, which bloomed into full laughter. Right then she decided that she didn’t mind his ridiculousness, nor his childishness or clumsy whimsy. Both this new voice inside her head and this true voice that she kept close to her heart said they were curious. She decided that she wouldn’t mind getting to know Amaimon. If only to find out if he was as wonderful as he was absurd.